


Love, True Love

by Ragazza_Guasto



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Drinking, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Frottage, Humor, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Shenanigans, Tasers, mentions of mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:57:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragazza_Guasto/pseuds/Ragazza_Guasto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly, Hudders, and Gavin hatch a scheme to get the boys drunk during John and Mary's wedding reception, hoping against hope that something will give. Unsurprisingly, it works. </p><p>Mawage...Mawage is wot bwings us twogevva twoday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, True Love

**Author's Note:**

> This story is unbeta'd and unbrit picked, so any mistakes are my own. I basically punched this bad boy out in three days on pure mountain dew and hysteria.
> 
> Mary is Moran, sort of. If you like your Mary's dulcet this story is not for you. Though it's mostly all in fun, no real harm done...mostly. 
> 
> I don't know why this story happened, maybe I've just had a bad week and needed the crack release. I literally just took all my and others head canons and poured liquor all over them. 
> 
> You're welcome.

 

 

"Right. I can't keep my mouth shut anymore. This wedding is bollocks!"

"Greg!" Molly hissed. She looked around to make sure no one but herself and Mrs. Hudson had overheard. They were pretty secluded from the rest of the wedding party, under a shady tree in the front garden, while the rest finished pictures. 

"No, I'm sorry, look!" Greg pointed toward the congregation in front of the church. "Those aren't happy tears, Molly."

Molly and Mrs. Hudson immediately looked over at Sherlock, and then at each other, neither having to say a word, both knowing all too well what Greg meant.  

"We're all thinking it, I'm the only one brave enough to say it." 

 _Drunk enough_ , Molly mumbled internally as Greg pouted against the tree. 

"I'm actually glad you said it, Inspector," Mrs. Hudson admitted. "I've been a mite worried about him myself. He didn't sleep a wink last night. If he'd had a case it would be one thing..."

"But he hasn't taken a case in weeks," Greg concluded with a nod, making his point that something was wrong. 

Molly chewed on her lip in indecision. It couldn't hurt at this point to spill, since they were all in agreement anyway. "I know why Mike's not here," rushed out, her lips snapped shut immediately after.

"I thought he was out of town?" Greg asked.

Molly shook her head, and then leant in to whisper, "He's livid. Told me last week he's protesting."

"Sort of defeats the purpose if he doesn't tell anyone but you," Mrs. Hudson pointed out dryly.  

Molly shrugged. "He said it just doesn't sit right."

They looked at each other and shuffled nervously, none quite ready to vocalize what they were all thinking. 

Mrs. Hudson bravely took the torch. "I like Mary, I do, she's lovely....but..."

Molly finished her thought, quiet but with solid conviction. "Sherlock and John belong together." 

A weight lifted with the spoken admission to what they had all been skirting around for years. 

Greg stepped away from the tree, his shoulders back, looking ready to walk head long into battle. "We have to do something."

Molly gaped at him. "Like what? Did you miss the whole 'I do' that just happened?"

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Hudson chimed in, toward Greg, "I'd like to help, but it's too late."

Greg was already shaking his head in stubborn denial. "No, they can still get an annulment. All we have to do is get those two idiots to admit they're in love with each other."

"Oh, is that all?" Mrs. Hudson scoffed. "And what am I? Chopped liver? What do you think I've been doing for the last four years? If it were possible it would have happened already. I  _have_  tried."

Greg scowled at the ground. "We know how Sherlock feels. I think we've all seen evidence of that since his return." He looked to the two women for conformation and they nodded solemnly. 

"You know when he came to me to help with the stag do, he had an entire folder of notes on John. He'd glued a cut-out of John's head to Da vinci's Vitruvian Man," Molly informed them with barely restrained hysteria. "I nearly wet myself when I saw it. I might have if it hadn't been so sad."

Mrs. Hudson tittered behind her hand. 

"I wasn't even invited to the damn party," Greg complained. "And you know what? I didn't ask either. I was hoping they'd get pissed and end up shagging till the cows came home but no,” he drawled, “they took a fucking case. 'Scuse my language, Mrs. H." She waved him off. "When I came to bail them out they still had all their clothes on. I've never been so disappointed to not see somebody naked in my life. If you get my meaning."

Again they nodded in understanding. 

"Oh." Mrs. Hudson looked down at her feet, her enormous hat dipped with the movement. "I think that might be my fault."

"Why do you say that?" Molly asked.

"Well, when they came home from the pub they'd seen fit to park it in the stairwell, all snuggled up on the stairs together like two boys at a sleepover. I had just been through my closet, looking for these shoes as a matter of fact," she held one foot out to showcase her yellow kitten heels, "and I had bagged up some shoes I knew I could give to the second hand shop down the way, you know the one with that huge armoire I’ve wanted in the window. Anyway, I was setting them out front when I found them. When they went upstairs it got quiet. Suspiciously quiet," she eyed them with significance, "but then that client came. Tessa I believe she said her name was. I couldn't leave her on the pavement, the poor dear, and they  _had_  left the door open, so I took her up."

"How is them not pulling their heads out of their arses end up being your fault though?" Greg wondered. 

"It's just that... I think if I'd left them alone they might have... They were sitting awfully close you see. Maybe if I'd just turned Tessa away they might have...let things progress naturally." She wrung her hands in guilt. Greg leaned in and wrapped an arm around Mrs. Hudson's shoulders, murmuring comforting platitudes to her. Molly thought back to the day Sherlock had asked her to come investigating with him, when Molly and Greg had first tentatively broached this very subject. Skirting as usual, never really saying what they both were thinking, that Sherlock had learned some new things while he was away, how very obvious it was that he missed John. 

What none of them needed to voice was whether or not John reciprocated. Not a one of them would ever forget what Sherlock leaving had done to John Watson. It wasn't a question of if he reciprocated, it was a question of why he hadn't thrown himself at Sherlock the second Sherlock had reappeared and held on as tight as he could. 

"If we could somehow get them to talk," Molly mused. "We know they would. If Mary didn't exist, if Sherlock had never left, if the last two years  _had_  progressed naturally... They would already be together." She looked at Greg and Mrs. Hudson. "How do we strip all that away so that they see the potential is still there?"

Greg snorted. "Booze usually works well for that."

Mrs. Hudson nodded sagely. 

Molly was ready to dismiss the idea but then it occurred to her...

"Mrs. Hudson? How sure are you that they would have..." She blushed but soldiered on. "The stag do, do you think they really would have?"

She smiled shyly but nodded in assurance. "Oh, yes. They were giggling like school girls, practically in each others laps. You should have seen them trying to get into the cab with that girl, Tessa. I'm surprised they even noticed she was there, honestly."

"Maybe..." Molly hesitated to even suggest it but... "Maybe we  _should_  get them drunk." 

Greg laughed. "You're completely serious." He scrubbed a hand over his short cropped hair and continued to laugh. "Can you imagine?"

"It wouldn't be hard to pull off at the reception. Open bar and all," Mrs. Hudson pointed out.

"See?" Molly started to get excited. "If we plan it right, you know, one of us distracting Mary at all times, the other two plying the boys with drinks, toasting and that... It could work."

"Sherlock would have it figured out in a second," Greg countered, "he'd never fall for it. 

"Sherlock is hardly himself today." Molly waved at the man in question. They turned to look at him, standing with one of Mary's bridesmaids. 

"He's letting himself get chatted up by a bridesmaid," Greg drawled, to which Molly responded with a 'see?' head tilt. 

"We need to intervene. Sooner rather than later, before he does something  _really_  stupid." Molly didn't like the look of that Bridesmaid. It might be petty jealousy but she didn't think so. Something about the woman set off her instincts. Something familiar. 

"This plan is insane but it's better than nothing," Greg muttered. "All right, I'll take John first, he's gonna be the hardest to convince."

"He did just get married after all," Mrs. Hudson pointed out. "Sherlock will fall over with a stiff breeze but John is loyal at heart, he'll be the toughest to get through to."

"Don't say anything too cheesy," Molly advised. "He'll see right through it. Just get him pissed and we’ll have Sherlock talked round enough to do the convincing for us."

Mrs. Hudson was now bouncing on her toes. "Oh, this is exciting. At the very least we'll get to see Sherlock do the Best Man speech while three sheets to the wind. That ought to be a good one."

Molly and Greg looked at each other. 

"No," Greg said immediately. "We can't let that happen. If they haven't spoken before that we need to pull Sherlock out. He'll make a fool of himself if we let him have the floor in that state."

"Agreed," Molly announced with a nod. "He's hardly in any shape to wish the happy couple congratulations as it is."

They all three turned to look at Sherlock again. He stood, so stoic with his hands behind his back, as the bridesmaid continued to tease him. Molly glanced at John, who was looking toward Sherlock as well. Greg glanced over at Molly, a question about his brow.  _Do you see him too?_  She gave a small nod and their conviction solidified. 

 

~*~

 

Mrs. Hudson approached Sherlock with a flute of champagne, one of her own already half gone.

"You're looking a little peaky, dear."

Sherlock took the glass with hardly a second glance. His attention was on the kitchen staff, or seemed to be.

"Find anything interesting?" She asked, mostly to pull his attention away from his own thoughts and into the present.

"Mmm," he hummed vaguely. "Not much. Over heard one of the cooks say they had lady fingers in the van but turns out it's a type of pastry. Boring."

"Well yes." Silly man. She grasped at something to get his mind away from the wedding. "The Inspector mentioned a case involving a corpse buried under the new Barclay's building. Sounds interesting."

"Estonian hit. Body was there before they broke ground. Unrelated."

He still hadn't taken a single sip of his champagne. She decided to change tactics.

"Mary is looking radiant, isn't she?" She asked with a grin. 

Sherlock downed the entire glass in one gulp.

Mrs. Hudson continued to grin.

 

~*~

 

"So I said to 'im," Greg burped, "this isn't the cargo bay, it's the loo." He pounded John on the back as he spilled a little bit of his beer on the floor. John laughed but he definitely wasn't drinking as quickly as Greg would like. 

"Did he manage to find his way back to the group?" John asked, taking a small sip of his whiskey laced dark ale. 

"Yeah, eventually." Greg took another big swig, trying his best to project the movement to John's subconscious. "I can honestly say I never thought I'd see so many klingons in one cell before."

"One or two sure, but twenty?" John grinned and took another swig. 

Greg was grinning proudly when Molly walked by. She leant in and whispered in his ear, "Play on his jealousy." Without further explanation she smiled, said hi to John and walked away. Greg belatedly noted that Molly smelled like rain and green things, but mostly he was trying to work out what he was supposed to do with that bit of information when John turned to him.

"What was that?" John asked with a wide grin. "There something there?"

Greg widened his eyes comically. "No, no. She was just, uh, sharing a bit of gossip."

John chuckled. "Should I be apprised of the goings on at my own reception or is it a secret?"

Greg's brain chugged along faster than one would assume, considering the amount of alcohol he'd already ingested before the reception and during, piecing an idea together in seconds of its inception.  

"Molly's not too happy with Sherlock's new friend." He glanced over at Janine, where she stood chatting away with Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson. 

John gave an 'Ah' face and took another, rather large, mouthful of ale. "I see."

Greg picked up quickly where Molly had been going with this. Jealousy sparked pain, causing more consumption of alcohol. Nicely done. 

"Yeah, not sure what she's worried about. She'd got miles on...Janine, was it?" He took a casual sip and side eyed John for his response.

"You mean... As in... Romantically?" John sputtered. 

"It's not out of the realm. You should have seen them working together on that fake Ripper case. Like a well-oiled machine. Not as good as you two, mind," Greg assured casually, "but not bad. I think Sherlock really appreciates her scientific approach. Don't think Janine could hold a candle to that. What does she do again?"

John was staring, shifting his gaze between Janine and Molly. "Ah... Secretary... Administrative Assistant, something like that," he answered vaguely. Another swig. And then another. 

"She is cute though, isn't she?"

"Molly?" John turned back to Greg to ask.

"Well, yeah, but no, I meant Janine."

John glanced over again. "I suppose. If you like that sort of thing." Tight, closed lipped smile.

“You don't like her either?" Greg guessed. 

 John protested but Greg laughed him off. “Nobody will hear it from me, mate." John didn't comment on that. “It'd be nice to see Sherlock pair off with somebody though," he offered. 

John frowned so hard his face looked ready to crack. “I don't think... You know he doesn't..."

“He might. He's not the same man he was before he left, John."

“Right," John agreed softly, absently, eyes glued on Sherlock. “Do you think he needs...someone?"

Greg didn't acknowledge how wretched John sounded. “Even the most stubborn of us need a mate. You've got Mary now. Sherlock needs a Mary. Or a Martin, whatever it is he prefers."

John looked over at that and then saw fit to finish the rest of his ale. God, he couldn't be more transparent if he tried. 

 

~*~

 

Mrs. Hudson wasn't even trying now, she was just transferring Sherlock's empty glasses for full ones as the waiters passed by. 

 

~*~

 

Molly had Mary and Sherlock both in her sights from her vantage point near the patio. By her count Sherlock was his fifth flute of champagne and John had only just finished his first. It was not working out, John was the one that needed to be convinced, the one who needed to get  more drunk. 

As she watched, John spotted a guest as he arrived, a man in full military dress uniform, and made his apologies to Greg before he made his way to greet the man. 

Mary was clearly interested in this new guest, in relation to Sherlock's reaction to him, as she kept her gaze trained on him throughout the encounter. 

 

~*~

 

John saluted the Major as soon as he approached and received an acknowledging nod in return. Both were unsure of the protocol in the situation, given their shared history, but they muddled along. John couldn't help his smirk as they chatted about nothing at all, though James looked like he'd like to wipe it off himself. John felt as if he were getting away with something, having James at his wedding reception, and though it was wrong to use him thus, John couldn't deny the rush of excitement he gained from it. 

 

~*~

 

"Mrs. Hudson. Something stronger will be needed, I'm afraid." Hiccup. 

 

~*~

 

Molly watched Mary watching Sherlock. Something about her body language was off. But when Mrs. Hudson rushed over to the bar, Molly got distracted and followed.

"Look, Ma'am, I can't just give you the whole bottle," the bartender was telling her.

"I'll have you know I am the former landlady of the groom himself and if he knew how you were treating his guests, he would be appalled."

"I don't care if you're his mum, I can't-"

Molly stepped in. "Look, mister, I know how to count, catalog, and remove vital organs," Molly growled. "If you know what's good for you, you'll give Mrs. Hudson that bottle of Talisker or I'll put your kidney where your spleen used to be. You'll live just long enough to wish you hadn't."

The bartender handed over the bottle with wide eyes.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Hudson said to Molly as they walked away with their prize.  

Molly grimaced to find during their adventure at the bar she had lost track of Mary, who was now chatting excitedly with Sherlock. 

Sherlock looked like he was going to be ill. 

"Mary, dear," Mrs. Hudson greeted sweetly. "Top off?" She jiggled the bottle of hundred quid scotch. 

Mary quirked an eyebrow at her but then shrugged. "Maybe a smidge. I'm finding the champagne lacking."

Sherlock swiped the bottle from her grasp before Mrs. Hudson could even tip any into Mary's glass. He ripped the pour spout out of the top and chugged straight from the neck. And then promptly coughed most of it out onto his waistcoat. 

 

~*~

 

Greg watched with morbid fascination as Sherlock chugged at least forty quid worth of top shelf Scotch and then spit most of it into the air and the surrounding area. So half of their idiotic plan was working. 

Molly gestured wildly for Greg to come take care of Sherlock. 

"Take him to the loo," she hissed when he approached. Her brow seemed trying to convey a suggestion that he utilize the time wisely.

He took Sherlock by the shoulders, steered him away and nodded conspiratorially back at her. He blinked down at the bottle in Mrs. Hudson's hand and glanced over at John and his friend. She glanced over as well and grinned. Greg hoped Mary hadn't caught any of this as Greg might not be as subtle as he thought he was.

"Geoff-"

"Greg."

"Greg, where are we going?'

"The loo, mate."

"Why?"

"Because you're pissed and if you're gonna get sick on yourself we'd rather you not do it in front of the guests."

"I would never," Sherlock swore solemnly with a burp.

They made it to the loo and Greg locked the door behind them as soon as it shut. He turned to find Sherlock sliding down the wall; his bum met the tile with a thunk and his chin met his chest heavily.

Greg scooted down to the floor to sit beside him. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Sherlock tried for irritation but it fell short. 

"Whatever you want. Something on your mind?"

"Nothing. Nothing is on my mind."

Greg nodded to that. “You do realize that in itself is worrying, right?"

Sherlock's chin rolled on his chest so he could look at Greg. "I think I'm drunk."

"I think so too," Greg agreed sagely.

"Didn't mean to be. Are you drunk?"

"A bit. Not as much as you."

Sherlock's face fell. "John's going to be so mad. I've ruined everything."

Greg pulled Sherlock against his shoulder awkwardly. "No, mate. He won't be mad, I promise. It'll all work out, you'll see." It had to, it just had to. Or else what was the point of it all?

Sherlock let himself be coddled, which was terrifying in itself.

"Is he happy?"

Greg looked down but all he could see was dark curls. "John?" Sherlock nodded. "I don't know," he admitted. "He probably thinks so."

Sherlock sat up at this. He squinted at Greg, doing his best to deduce despite his inebriated state.  "What do you mean?"

It was time to lay down some truth. If the plan didn't work Greg could always deny ever having the conversation or blame it on the alcohol.

"It's not my place to judge true love. I'm a fifty year old divorcee after all. But... I don't think John made the right choice."

Sherlock hiccuped. He had the look of a six year old who'd od'd on sweets and then been given a swift kick in the chest. "I don't understand." 

"I think he took the easy road. He did the 'right thing' by Mary but in the end we all know where his loyalties really lie."

"With..." Sherlock scowled at his knees. "With the Queen?"

That comment was so stupid it sailed right over hilarious and settled somewhere in soft giggle territory. "No, you idiot."

"The King...?"

"I worry about you sometimes."

"Major Sholto?"

"Who?" Greg asked, confused.

"The Major," he flung his hand out to indicate outside the loo, "the Major, you know,  _him._  Despite all previous evidence to the contrary, new evidence dispels John's hetero status, rewrites assumed knowledge. Shouldn't have assumed, twisted facts to suit theory... Wasn't him.. It was me. He tried first off but I...I... And then he called me a machine-"

Greg had to stop him there. It was too much, to listen to his jumbled deductions, the assumed distaste on John's part, as the red, glassy stare worsened.

"Mate, mate," he put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, "stop. You are  _so_  wrong."

Sherlock glanced over briefly but was unable to make eye contact for more than a few seconds. 

"Christ, Sherlock, you have to know. You're one of the smartest men in the world, how can you not know?"

"Know what?" He demanded petulantly. 

"That he's in love with you!"

Sherlock flinched. “No he's not," he practically growled.

“Yeah, mate, he is."

Sherlock frowned so hard his brow near covered his eyes.

“How do you know?" He asked.

Greg chuckled at that. “I mean, Christ, have you ever looked at him? He looks at you like you're the second coming. Has since day one."

Sherlock's mouth fell open but before either of them could discuss the issue further someone pounded on the door and demanded entrance. 

Sherlock jumped up and practically ran for the door. He pawed it open and was gone before Greg could even stand. The gent in the doorway glanced in and gave Greg a scowl.

"Oh, what would you know?" He growled.

 

~*~

 

"What are we toasting this time?" John asked with a laugh. Mrs. Hudson was so far into her cups she'd already toasted the Army, Navy,  _and_  the Humane Society.  

"Why don't we toast to John and Mary?" James suggested with a cheeky smirk of his own. It was good to finally see that smile again. 

John sputtered when Mrs. Hudson let out a, "Pfft," and waved him off. He looked up at James with an incredulous laugh.

Before John could demand a teasing explanation, he found himself grasped about the side of the head by one Sherlock Holmes. The whole of his vision was taken up by pale skin and very blue eyes; John's own swam as he tried to focus on them. 

"No," Sherlock muttered. "Really? No." 

"What the hell?" John muttered back as Sherlock looked him over. 

"Uh, Sherlock, dear, is everything all right?" Mrs. Hudson, bless her, asked curiously.

Sherlock didn't answer, he continued to study John's left eyebrow. 

"Oi, paws off my husband," Mary's voice filtered in past the sound of Sherlock's mutterings. 

John was set free and found he was slightly annoyed at the lack of warmth at his ears. He looked at Mary, whose smile was teasing but whose shoulders were high enough to look proprietary. John chuckled at the thought.

“Your Major, I presume?" She asked John with another smile, one that allowed that John was right about the man showing up.

He smiled back, slung an arm around her waist and introduced her to James. She charmed him right away, and there, thankfully, didn't seem to be any animosity between them.  John found he was genuinely proud to have Mary on his arm. 

Until he glanced at Sherlock. 

Against his will, John's arm fell from around Mary's waist and his hand reached out toward Sherlock. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but before he could Mary's eye was caught by the kitchen.

"Oh. Food's ready." She smiled at everyone and took John by the hand, leading him away from the group. He continued to be trapped in Sherlock's gaze until she shoved him down in his seat at the table.

“Wait!" John called out when Sherlock turned tail and ran from the room. He turned to follow but Mary yanked him back.

“What’s the matter with you? They're bringing the food," she hissed.

“But Sherlock-" 

“Can fend for himself, he's a grown boy. Sit and enjoy your first meal as a married man." She smiled, her eyes crinkling with shared love.

John sort of wished she'd stop mentioning it at every thirty second interval.

“He's supposed to eat with us," he pointed out as the wait staff started bring the plates. 

Mary set her napkin down with a snap and pointed. “There," she huffed, “Lestrade has him."

John looked up and sure enough, Greg was pulling Sherlock along, as the man practically drug his heels the whole way. He set Sherlock down in his chair as forcefully as Mary had John. When Sherlock made to pop back up Greg pushed him back down again. He bent down to whisper in Sherlock's ear, smiled at John and Mary and then left them for his own table.

“Are you all right?" John asked in a whisper.

Sherlock turned fully away from John, apparently much more interested in Janine's scintillating conversation. 

_What the hell did I do?_

 

 ~*~

 

“I fucked up,” Greg whispered to Molly when he sat down. Guilt and anger at himself pushed hunger away, even as his splendid dinner was set down. 

“What?" Molly replied, concerned. 

”I told him," Greg admitted. “I told Sherlock John was in love with him."

“He didn’t know?" She asked, incredulous.

“Apparently not, no."

Molly immediately looked up at the wedding table. 

"He's not caused a scene yet," she hedged, knowing full well it was only a matter of time. 

Mrs. Hudson leant in and asked, "What's going on?"

"The Inspector told Sherlock about John."

"Oh." Her hand went up to her lips but after she inspected Sherlock, calmly chatting with Janine, she tilted her head in confusion. "Well...why isn't he...hmm."

"Greg," Molly hesitated, "why hasn't he had a meltdown yet? Do you think we were wrong?"

He immediately shook his head. "God no. He did try to make a break for it but I nabbed him on the way out. I'm not letting him out of my sight until we see this through."

They nodded in agreement.

"We need a different strategy," Mrs. Hudson suggested. "Maybe we could shove them into a closet together and lock the door?"

Molly snickered but Greg shook his head again. "No good. I've found them in closets together. As far as I can tell nothing came of it."

 "True," Mrs. Hudson acknowledged. "If Sherlock teaching John to waltz didn't do it, nothing will."

"Did he really?" Greg asked. The image was too ludicrous  _not_  to be true though. 

"On my glorious hat, he did," she swore, "and it was too precious for words. The idiots, you should have seen them spring apart when I came upstairs. You'd think I'd caught them shagging bare arsed on the sofa."

Molly coughed up a piece of chicken at that. Greg patted her lightly on the back, but couldn't help but grin at the way she blushed from collar bone to hairline.

"Sorry, dear," Mrs. Hudson said with a motherly pat, completely incongruous to her previous statement. 

"It's all right. I just, uh, well...it was quite an image." Molly wouldn't look either of them in the eye. 

A subject change was in order. Greg finished the rest of his champagne and set the glass down with finality. 

"Right. We need to get serious. True love is at stake."

Molly nodded resolutely. Mrs. Hudson's chin came up.

They bowed their heads together and dinner was promptly forgotten.

 

~*~

 

 

John swore he'd never felt so intently shunned before. And Sherlock had once ignored John for two weeks straight for binning an experiment. He was sure it was the man's intent, since John couldn't seem to drag his attention away from Sherlock and Janine as they whispered and giggled barely a breath away. Why he was being such a berk John hadn't the faintest.

He had to feign polite confusion when Janine leant across the table and asked, "Right, John? The Best Man Speech?" As if he hadn't been eaves dropping.

"Hmm? Oh, yes," he agreed with a smile at Sherlock, who continued to ignore him. John turned to Mary. "That is if the wife deems."  _Score a point for Team Watson_ , John thought when he saw Sherlock flinch out of his periphery. 

"The speech? Oh, yes, go on, love," Mary waved Sherlock on with a smile. 

Sherlock looked them both over as one would bird shite on a newly washed vehicle. 

John felt as though he'd lost his mind. Did nobody else see how...off...Sherlock was? 

"I'd be delighted," Sherlock deadpanned with the smile John had silently named 'The Immoral Innocent.'

"Jesus Christ," John muttered under his breath. He quickly tucked his hands under the table, when the left cramped against his will.  Disaster. They were bound for disaster. 

As Sherlock stood from the table, John noted Greg made to stand as well, but Molly put a hand to his arm and shook her head. He sat back down and they put their heads back together, as if conspiring. Conspiring towards what, John had no idea, but it seemed likely to end in John's embarrassment. 

"Esteemed guests," Sherlock greeted congenially. He then immediately bashed the top off of his champagne flute when he attempted to tap it with his fork. Champagne sprayed, glass flew into Janine's hair, she yelped, loudly, a few of the people in the front row gasped and it was several seconds of insuring everyone was okay before Sherlock resumed. John didn't care anymore; he had his head buried in the safety of his arms on the tabletop. Nothing could touch him here.

"As I was saying," Sherlock continued, "esteemed guests, thank you for coming together to celebrate the blessed union of Mary Elizabeth and John Hamish Watson."

John raised his head a bit. Other than the embarrassment of his middle name, Sherlock's speech didn't sound too bad so far. He glanced up timidly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Sherlock reached into his jacket and pulled out what looked like several hundred note cards. 

"I had a written speech prepared but," he looked the cards over with a mock scowl, "I'm not sure I like this speech anymore."

John flinched. What the hell was he doing? He looked over to Mary but she didn't seem to care that Sherlock was about to 'wing' his best man speech.

Sherlock flipped though the cards, seeming to reject several parts. "John this, John that. Oh, here's another story about  _John."_  He sneered. 

Greg made to stand again; John was hopeful of rescue, but Molly snatched him back down again. Dammit. 

"Here's where John ignores obvious Military kink," he chucks a card, "here's where I get John drunk and he still can't commit to his actions," chucks another card, "here's where I point out how well John and I work as a team. You know, a well-oiled machine, one might say." He glared out over the crowd as if daring anyone to argue. Everyone in the room was too stunned to react, including John. 

"It's all quite obvious on this end, I'll admit. What with the 'John's so clever, John's so brave, John's so  _loyal_.'" He snorted at his own assessment of John's character. "What a blind fool I've been. John isn't clever, or if he is, he's not brave or loyal. Can't be all three I'm afraid."

"I'm going to murder him," John whispered to Mary. "If I get up you have to stop me."

"Certainly not," she replied, looking like she was having the time of her life. 

"You see, ladies and gentlemen," Sherlock went on, "John Watson is actually a liar and a thief and a bastard but the worst of all these is he's a  _coward_." He spit the last so vehemently John had a split second to question if he really was a coward, before his rage wiped the need for introspection away. 

"That's it," John snarled before he rose up and snatched Sherlock by his jacket and marched him out of the room. Drug him was perhaps more apt. Sherlock was certainly unbalanced, arms out, note cards flying, his legs tripping to stay upward mobile as John yanked him toward the first room they came to. 

John, on some level, could hear the guests, their questions, concerns, but John only had ears for one man. 

 

~*~

 

Molly had Greg's arm in a vice grip as they watched John man handle Sherlock toward the waiting rooms. 

Mrs. Hudson was up out of her seat and rushing toward Mary faster than should be possible given her bad hip. It was clear she was talking Mary down from going after them. The blushing bride seemed more apt to flush in anger than innocence at the moment but she backed down to Mrs. Hudson's motherly, rational advice. 

"God help them if they don't fix this, I swear," Molly snapped, "I'll...I'll scream."

"I'll be right there beside you," Greg agreed. 

He watched as Janine made her way over to Mary, took her by the arm and pulled her away to converse. Mrs. Hudson came back to the table and sat down with an exhausted huff. Her hat flopped with the motion. 

"It's out of our hands now," she solemnly whispered. "I just hope they don't kill each other."

 

~*~

 

" _I'm_  the bastard?!" John was practically screaming at him, looking completely unhinged. Even so, Sherlock still noted how in his element the man was, on the verge of violence. "You just called me a coward in front of the entire guest list at my wedding and  _I'm_  the bastard?"

"Your wedding, John, your  _wedding_ ," he snarled back. "How could you?"

"How could I what?! Get married to my fiancée?! Are you listening to yourself? You helped plan the whole thing!"

Sherlock stomped his foot. "Before I knew I had a choice! You never said a word, in fact, you've done nothing but deny it since day one!"

"What the hell are you on about?"

Rage boiled in his blood, making Sherlock dizzier, more light headed than what the alcohol had already managed. "You really are a coward," he snapped. "The least you could do is own it, now that it makes little difference either way."

Quietly, so soft Sherlock might have missed it if they weren't standing toe to toe, came, "Call me a coward again. I dare you." He stood his ground, the stance of a military man, but just behind his eyes Sherlock saw John's hesitation.  He knew. He knew what Sherlock was accusing him of and  _still_  he denied it. 

In a blur, Sherlock was on him. John put up a valiant fight, but his biceps were neatly pinned to the door in seconds and Sherlock was upon him, bent low and then...

John cried out when Sherlock crashed his lips down but it was a sound of surprise, not of anger. 

He'd expected immediate denial from John, considering his data was ill begotten and likely tainted by wishful thinking.

Sherlock had anticipated the anger, the shock, possibly rage, or even disgust.

He'd expected to be shoved off right away. Punched, kicked, clawed at. 

Not pulled closer. Not tugged, clung to, held. Kissed. 

It wasn't ideal; too angry, vengeful, accusatory. But it was perfect. Because John kissed him back.  

"You unbelievable bastard," John sobbed into his mouth. "How could you do this to me now?"

" _You_  did this," he replied, flicking his tongue lightly over John's bottom lip. "You did this to us. It could have been  _us_."

John took huge, wracking, sobbing breaths, lips still busing against Sherlock's. "I didn't know. You never-"

His accusatory words died a warrior’s death at Sherlock’s tongue as it cut them down where they lived. John gave a pleasant hiss and a moan as Sherlock wedged his thigh between John's legs. Feeling brave, he then shifted until their erections brushed. Oh, it was heady, knowing John wanted him too. They growled at each other when Sherlock gripped John's leg and hitched it up around his waist, grinding their cocks together, despite layers of impediment. John held Sherlock tight under his jacket, one hand round his waist, the other clawing fiendishly at his arse, pulling him in harder. 

"Unnnn, fuck," John mumbled, "yeah, like that. Oh, fuck, Sherlock."

Hearing his name like that, breathy and pleading, did something to Sherlock's general ability to stay sane. He snatched John up, wrapped his legs fully around his torso and then walked them to a conveniently placed sofa. John didn't miss a beat, just hooked his ankles and continued snogging until Sherlock threw him down and leapt on top.  

 

~*~

 

Greg slapped a hand over both Molly and Mrs. Hudson's ears, virtually smashing their heads together in front of the door. Neither seemed to notice, they were far too busy crying.

 

~*~

 

Mary and Janine stood behind the Three Musketeers as they spied at the door.

“At least wait until they're done," Janine whispered in Mary's ear. "Nobody wants to die with their dick out."

"I make no promises," Mary answered. 

The Inspector turned at the sound of Mary's voice and practically yelped upon seeing her standing there. 

"Might I have a word?" She asked sweetly. 

Mrs. Hudson and Molly did yelp at that. They all three faced Mary and Janine with guilt written in triplicate. 

"Christ yes!" John's cry could be heard from beyond the door.

Mary's smile stretched even further.

Janine motioned for them to move into the adjacent room. "C'mon everyone, let's take this away from prying eyes."

They reluctantly moved away from door and toward the open doorway across the hall.

Mary turned to Janine and whispered, "Watch the door. Don't let anyone in here or in there with them before I'm done."

"God, Sherlock, your mouth! Don't stop, you bastard!" 

Janine grinned from ear to ear. "It would be my pleasure."

"Watch the sass too," Mary snapped with a point, "or you'll be next."

Janine gave a smart ass ‘okay' hand gesture and shooed Mary on. 

Just before Mary closed the door, as Mrs. Hudson started pleading her case, she caught Janine with her ear to the door where her husband was having a go at his best man. 

 

~*~

 

"Not like that, c'mere. Come up here," John panted, fighting orgasm valiantly, as he wrangled the lanky berk back up his body. It was like fighting an octopus.

"What do you mean-" Sherlock started to ask, clearly offended, until John made quick work of his zip and tugged Sherlock's cock free. "Agghhhhh."

"Yeah, shut up for once in your bloody life," John complained as he rutted against that beautiful, perfect bit of flesh with his own.

"You're the one, unnnhhh, ohhh fuck... you're the one who... God, yes!"

"Shut up, just shut the fuck up," John snapped and smashed their lips together again. He could cry if he let himself, but he refused, he absolutely refused to give into the temptation. So he continued to work their cocks together and occasionally insult Sherlock's intelligence and general sense of self.

"You're hands are bigger," John mumbled absently into Sherlock's mouth, "you should be doing this." 

"Fine but, nnnggnnnn, I did offer the cleaner solution, don't forget." Sherlock wedged his hand in to replace John's and John spasmed on the sofa like an asphyxiated fish. 

John gasped, "Oh, Christ, I'm going to come."

"All over this eight hundred quid suit that you didn't want to pay for I might add," Sherlock grunted and groaned at him, tightening his grip and sending John over the edge.

"Shutupshutupshutup...agghhhh." John came without a care for the eight hundred quid suit. Sherlock continued to slide around on top of him, despite how sensitive John now was. He reached back down to lend another hand. "C'mon, you next. Let me see."

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut with a frown. 

"What's the matter with you?" John growled. "If you know what's good for you, you'll come in my hand right this minute."

“But it's Italian silk," Sherlock whinged. 

John wasn't sure if he was hinting for John to use his mouth or what but the posh bastard could get bent.

“I'm going to burn the blasted thing when we get home anyway,” he snarled, “so you can go right ahead and come all over it.”

Sherlock's eyes flashed open, he gasped, and then promptly spent all over the eight hundred quid suit. John had never been so proud. 

He was busy peppering Sherlock's temple and cheek with kisses when the door was kicked in. 

They both fell off the sofa and landed hard on the floor. 

"Are you done?" Mary asked in a bored drawl. 

John and Sherlock scrambled to tuck and zip and stand with as much dignity as possible given what she'd burst in on. Nothing to be done about the wet spots. 

"Mary-" John tried to apologize but she cut him off.

"Save it. We all knew it was coming. I thought it would happen during the stag do honestly but." She shrugged.

"Me too," Sherlock mumbled to himself. 

John looked over with a scowl. "If we could all be  _adults_  about this, that would be great."

That was when Janine popped into the room and shut the door behind her. "All clear," she informed Mary.

"Janine? Um," John licked his lips nervously, unsure why she was suddenly involved. 

"She's here to witness the end, darling. It's been three years coming." 

It was then that John noticed the gun in her hand. His whole frame locked down instantly, part of his instincts kicking in, another part baffled by the insanity of the image.

"Oh," Sherlock huffed beside him, "Brava. Moran?"

Mary gave a sarcastic curtsy. "Margery, how do you do?"

"Moran was American," Sherlock pointed out. "You can lose the accent. It was a bit flat anyway."

"There was nothing wrong with my accent," she snapped, said accent given way to reveal an American one.

"What the fuck?" John whispered, completely lost. 

"I thought the rumors were just that, but here you are. Impressive," Sherlock allowed. "I suppose the same is true for you as well?" He asked Janine.

"Yeah," Janine agreed with a grin, looking like she was having the time of her life. "Hi."

"Somebody needs to explain this before I lose it." John's fingers were clenched hard at his sides.

"It's obvious, now that I know what I'm looking at," Sherlock said. "Think John. Janine remind you of anyone? How many other Irish brunettes have we known who would want to see your scheming wife put a bullet in your head?"

Putting aside the fact that apparently Mary was planning on murdering him on their wedding night, "No..."

"'Fraid so, yeah. Sorry," Janine's lyrical voice sing sang in that way, that horridly familiar way... "And for the record, I just really wanted to get dressed up, there can be murder or not. I was just happy to be invited." 

John looked at Mary then, eyes glancing off the pistol in her hand, complete with silencer no less, and looked her right in the eyes. She smiled sweetly.

"Bit rude to break it to you like this, dear, but it was never going to work out between us." Her cheek twitched in humor, her fake English accent back in place.

"Sherlock," John addressed the man without breaking eye contact with Mary, "who is she?"

"Do you want to tell him the story or should I?" Sherlock asked Mary.

Mary dropped the blushing bride act, her face morphing into something closer to madness, intent in her righteousness. John kept a weather eye on her trigger finger.

"I didn't find out until after," she whispered, accents switching again. "I was gone, sent away, didn't know it was for a reason until I got the news. Seb did to me what he tried to do to you," she waved the gun at Sherlock, "send you away from the battlefield. But it follows you, everywhere. It's always there, love, isn't it?"

And for the first time in their relationship John truly felt like she understood him.  

"By the time I came home, they were both dead," she continued. "Jim by his own idiotic hand and Seb taken out by some random MI6 agent," she spit. "He deserved better."

"He never should have pointed his rifle at John Watson," Sherlock growled, showing true emotion. 

A tick appeared in Mary's eye brow. John knew that look and desperately wished she wasn't holding that Sig Sauer. 

"Seb?" John asked, trying to distract her further. He wondered where the hell Greg was, or any of their other guests for that matter.

"Sebastian Moran," Sherlock explained, "Moriarty's right hand and you're late brother-in-law." 

Janine piped up from the corner. "Jim's lover too, don't forget that. Makes it all the more tragic."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Would you stop with the romantic bullshit."

"It's true!" Janine exclaimed. "They were in love."

"They were rabid dogs," she corrected. "More likely to set fire to each other than cuddle."

"Oh, that was one time!" 

"Ladies," Sherlock intervened, "is that really the issue we should be debating?" 

Janine put her hands on her hips and scowled. "You all like to have a go, but my romantic streak has kept you two alive for years. I believe a thank you wouldn't be amiss."

John and Sherlock looked at each other and then back to Janine. 

She huffed. "Who do you think let Jim in on your feelings for each other? Me, that's who. Who do you think told him how to burn the heart out of you?" She asked Sherlock. 

The instant Sherlock understood he took a step towards her, to do what John wasn't sure, but before he could even reach him Mary already had the Sig pointed at his head.

"Ah ah, I don't think so."

"Don't be mad, darling. It was a distraction," Janine explained. "Nobody knew how Jim's mind worked better than me. If it were up to him, he'd have removed your brain and put it in a jar right after the Black Lotus incident. Not sure what he thought he was going to do with it."

"Chew on it, probably," Mary quipped.

Janine shrugged, as if this were perfectly possible.

"Why?" Sherlock growled, clearly still livid at the woman. 

"Why did I talk him into the long con?" Sherlock nodded. "Simple. I was curious. You can understand that, right?"

"Curious about what?" John asked.

The two women looked at each other in exasperation. 

"You," Janine waved at the two men. "Why haven't you been together since the beginning? It's driven me crazy for years!"

"You used to drive  _us_  crazy," Mary told Janine. "I thought Jim was going to literally explode if you screamed at that computer monitor any more."

"Sorry for being a fan, jeez. He shouldn't have put the damn camera up if he didn't want me to watch."

"You were spying on us?" John snapped.

Janine giggled. "Not like there was anything to see. 'Let's have a cuppa.' 'Play us another tune, Sherlock.' 'Let's sit at the kitchen table for six hours straight looking into a microscope.' Ugh. Boring!"

"She would sit there at that computer for hours just screaming at you two to blow each other," Mary chimed in. "Drove Jim nuts."

"Punched me right in the eye, the bastard," she admitted with a lazy south paw pantomime.  

John looked at Sherlock in amazement.  _Can you believe this?_

Sherlock shrugged.  _Yeah, actually._

"So all of this, every awful thing that has happened to us in the last three years...your fault?" John asked Janine.

"Would you rather be dead?" Mary asked dryly. 

John looked down at her weapon and she grinned. 

"So now what?" Sherlock asked. A fissure of fear skated down John's spine. As long as they were talking nobody was getting shot, he didn't want to conclude this little confrontation if it ended with their deaths. 

"I'm not entirely sure actually. It's been a long time coming, this revenge. The whole taking John from you aspect has been exhausting. I should by rights blow both yours heads off right now. But..."

"But she likes you," Janine drawled in that Moriarty sing-song tease.

Mary scowled. "Do not. I haven't killed anyone in months, I'm trying to savor it."

 _Months_ , John mouthed to Sherlock in horror. They'd been together for a year! 

"Liar! You told me you liked him and thought about riding it out."

It hit John like a ton of bricks then. Between the liquor, what had happened with Sherlock and the shock of finding out his relationship with Mary was a lie based on revenge, he'd forgotten just a few short hours ago he'd planned on spending the rest of his life with this woman. John felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. Mary quickly snapped him back to reality.

"I said I liked his dick and thought about riding  _him_  out, big difference. Good dick is hard to come by."

A laugh escaped from John unbidden. "Thanks?"

"Thank  _you_ ," she allowed. "I almost feel bad for killing you both after only the one time." She looked at Sherlock. "Once you get him over that 'I'm just a sweet, unassuming gentleman' phase it's like fucking a tornado."

"John has never been a gentleman with me," Sherlock drawled, generations of smug ancestors with their noses in the air standing behind him. 

John stared at his shoes as if none of this were happening. He'd rather they went back to talking about brains in jars. 

"Too right, he aint," Janine snorted. "Fucked the groomsman at his own wedding reception! Even I didn't predict that one." She started clapping. 

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose with one hand. Maybe a bullet to the brain would be a blessing. 

"Oh yeah, I'm mad at you, husband. Such a shocking development, never thought you'd do this, yadda yadda yadda."

John looked up in time to see Mary level the pistol at him. Sherlock moved to intercede, to John's everlasting horror, but before she could decide to shoot the door burst in for a second time. 

They all turned to see Greg, Molly and Mrs. Hudson in the doorway. 

Almost faster than John could track, they attacked. Well, Molly and Mrs. Hudson attacked, Greg sort of just stood there supervising. Mostly he stood there wide eyed and hesitant. 

Molly struck first, armed with a bottle of champagne, which she brought down on top of Janine's head. It fell with a thunk and Molly waited while Janine stood there looking confused, before she fell to the floor. 

Mary turned to point her gun at Molly but Mrs. Hudson was already on it. 

John had about a half a second to process how bad an idea what she was about to do was before it happened.

Mrs. H pushed the button on her little pink stun gun and sent the metal prongs whizzing through the air at Mary. What was probably 30,000 volts of electricity raced through her where the bits had struck her in the arm and John watched in both mute horror and resigned amusement as she involuntarily pulled the trigger on her pistol.

"Son of a bitch!" John exclaimed as a bullet grazed his side, throwing him down to one knee. At the same time, Mary went down in a tangle of limbs, flopping on the floor as Mrs. Hudson continued to zap her.

Greg had to wrestle the stun gun from her as she continued to hammer the little button with glee.  

"John, don't move, let me see." Sherlock was on the floor with him, trying to pull his jacket aside to see where the bullet nicked him, just between his seventh and eight rib on the left side. 

"It's fine, Sherlock. Hardly a flesh wound. Burns like hell but I'll live." He let Sherlock fuss until he was assured John was right. "I'm a doctor, remember? And this isn't my first time being shot."

Sherlock didn't seem to find the humor in this, if his furrowed brow and down turned lips were any judge.  

"I'm fine," John whispered softly. "Don't fret."

"Sherlock, gimme your mobile. I need to call for backup and a squad for John." Greg waited with his hand out until Sherlock slapped the phone into it. He ushered the women out the door with him as he dialed for help. John noted he'd already tied Mary and Janine together with a length of rope. 

"I wouldn't have need to fret if you'd not agreed to marry a gun wielding psychopath in the first place," Sherlock muttered as he held his bunched up tie to John's wound. 

John couldn't help but smile. He took a deep breath, the weight of years of denial suddenly gone from his shoulders, and whispered, "What about high functioning sociopaths? Can I marry them?" 

Oh no, he'd short circuited Sherlock's brain again.

He leant in and kissed the gaping maw of the man he loved most in the world.

"God, I love you, you silly git." 

 

~*~

 

"What is that noise?" Greg looked around in confusion.

"Oh no," Molly cried, "I know that sound! Somebody is squeezing a cat too hard, the poor thing. We've got to find it!"

They searched the dining room and the hall until he found the point of origin. It was coming from the room John and Sherlock were still in. He waved Molly over and peered around the door.

"Huh. Apparently that's the sound a sociopath makes when he cries," Greg informed her.   

 

**Author's Note:**

> Can you picture what a sobbing cry baby Sherlock is right now? Omg, he's a hot mess. And they still have jizz on their suits. 
> 
> On that note, tell me what you think, I love hearing from readers! 
> 
> Or come find me on Tumblr at [artisanbloodbank](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/artisanbloodbank). I don't bite...hard...


End file.
